


Knew You Wanted to Tell Me

by dedougal



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Community: cottoncandy_bingo, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-30
Updated: 2012-09-30
Packaged: 2017-11-15 09:26:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/525768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dedougal/pseuds/dedougal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek's not sure why Stiles isn't in school. But he needs to find out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Knew You Wanted to Tell Me

**Author's Note:**

> For the prompt Missing Someone. This one is more sappy than schmoopy and refers extensively to canon deaths.

Stiles isn’t in school. Derek drives past the parking lot again, slowly, searching for the Jeep that should be obvious in the parking lot, but it’s not there. He stops the car and steps out, at a loss, before pulling out his cell and punching in a text. Then he tries again, this time texting Scott.

Scott’s reply is brusque. “Of course he’s not here dickweed.” He entertains a moment's thought of storming through the school, sniffing out Scott and pinning him to the nearest flat surface and demanding an honest answer. In the end, he decides that it's probably not the best of ideas.

Derek slides back into the Camaro and pulls away, driving in the direction of the Sheriff’s house. He’d promised Stiles he wouldn’t come around in daylight, in case his dad got suspicious (more suspicious was what Stiles had said) but Derek had the sudden irrational worry that something is wrong. He parks a few streets away, pulling on a dark pair of shades and a baseball cap before crossing the quiet residential sidewalks until he’s within hearing distance of Stiles’ house. 

The Jeep is in the driveway but the house looks empty, cold. Derek can hear the ticking of the clock in the hallway, in that odd echoing way that clocks sound in a vacant house. Derek cuts around the corner, across the lawn and vaults up to the roof, not even caring about the fact he usually has the cover of night to do this. Stiles has left his window open a few centimetres. Enough for Derek to pry open and crawl through. 

Sometimes when he comes in, Derek is just overwhelmed by Stiles. His… There isn’t really a word Derek’s completely comfortable using to describe what he and Stiles are to each other. Sometimes Derek wants to slap a label on that cries out possession and belonging and he’d be happy to except for the fact that Stiles is still too young. Derek thinks that perhaps he’ll still be able to persuade Stiles to apply to colleges out of state and have his own life and just remember fondly the guy he lost his virginity to. But, in this room, Stiles is everywhere. Sure he’s a seventeen year old boy who maybe needs to make sure he gets all his dirty socks to the laundry basket on a more regular basis, but it’s more than that.

Until he was alone in the room, Derek didn’t realise how much of himself was bound in with Stiles’ scent nowadays. The notion makes him smile though he’d never tell Stiles.

Derek slips down the stairs, careful and quiet, but he can’t hear anyone else in the house. There’s coffee cups on the draining board and everything seems tidier than usual. But there’s no sign of Stiles nor of his dad. Derek feels weird standing in the hallway on his own just looking at the accumulated bric a brac, the photos and the trophies, without any Stilinksi present. In the end, he heads back to Stiles’ bedroom. There’s no reply to the message he sent Stiles earlier yet, but it’s still daylight and Scott knew Stiles was somewhere and Derek didn’t have reason to worry yet.

The door slamming breaks the cycle of thought and Derek sits up, dropping the book he wasn’t really reading as much as staring at words that didn’t seem to be part of a sentence. Stiles bursts through the door a moment later, alone. His dad is still downstairs. And Stiles is in a suit.

The house still sounds oddly empty and silent. There’s no TV or radio being switched on. Stiles has none of his ever present music playing. The house is echoing without it. Stiles is wearing a black tie and suddenly Derek knows what today is. Stiles looks at him, eyes red-rimmed and old before his time in his dark suit and Derek opens his arms.

He doesn’t know what day Laura died on, not precisely. And mourning Peter would be weird considering he killed him first time around and that he’s not entirely dead now. But the day of the fire is still etched on his memory and every year Derek does something to commemorate. Why Stiles would be any different for his mother?

Stiles slips into his arms, fitting perfectly like he always does. He still hasn’t said anything but perhaps there aren’t really words for this. Derek is here and perhaps that says everything that it needs to. Derek kisses him when Stiles turns his head up, soft at first then harder. Saying sorry she’s gone but you’re here and I’m here and you have to, just, keep going.

Downstairs the TV goes on, which Derek thanks whatever deity is listening for, because the tell-tale squeaking of the bed might be too much for the Sheriff to tactfully ignore. Derek takes his time peeling Stiles out of his suit, the one they’d bought for the funeral no doubt, a little too tight across the shoulders now. Unbuttoning the shirt was a new one – Stiles wore his extensive collection of plaid open over a t-shirt normally – but each button became a revelation, a place to kiss. A place to worship and cherish.

Stiles is quiet. It was almost worrying with the way he normally talked constantly, instructed, commanded, yelled out until he fell asleep exhausted. But this isn’t the normal type of fucking they usually indulge in. Derek folds both their clothes over the desk chair, removing Stiles’ shoes and socks and pants without his usual insane urgency. He swallows Stiles down while his fingers are busy opening Stiles wide, while Stiles bites down on his fist and tangles his other hand in Derek’s hair. And finally, as he slides home, Stiles’ legs wrapped around his waist, Derek kisses him, pouring everything into the kiss – all the words he’d stopped behind his teeth too many times. He doesn’t want to pressure Stiles, to spell out exactly how Derek regards him, loves him. Instead he uses soft hands, rolling hips, a clever mouth and gentle lips. 

Stiles comes, hard like usual, and Derek follows after, too caught up in every roll of desire from Stiles to even think about trying to hold on and tease. Licking Stiles clean seems like the right thing to do, to keep the connection between them and Derek doesn’t settle until his head is pillowed on Stiles’ shoulder, his leg flung across Stiles’ thighs. He plays with the soft hair of Stiles’ treasure trail while Stiles’ heartbeat returns to normal.

“At the weekend-“ Derek lowers his voice. He needs to whisper. “This weekend, I’d like to come meet her. With you.”

“To the cemetery? But-“ Stiles’ hand stills where it had been stroking down Derek’s back.

Derek’s half glad he’s not looking at Stiles right now. “I want to. It’s not as good as meeting her face to face. Nothing would be. But I’d like to. If that’s okay.”

It seems like a lot to put on a seventeen year old, but Derek knows Stiles well enough to let him choose what he’s ready for or not. Stiles is tugging at his hair to get him to look up. There’s something a lot like the feelings Derek hopes he keeps under control on Stiles’ face right now. “And you’d- For your family?”

Derek kisses him. It’s all he can do. It’s all he dares to do. For now.


End file.
